The unexpected trip: suddenly eating pizza in the sun

I wake up with a strain in my left arm that is so painful I cry out when I try to pull up my pants. This means I will not only have difficulty lifting S, I will also not be able to do my early-morning workout. I cry in my husband’s arms. The scale reads 148. Still.

Luckily, S wakes up smiling and joking around. I have noticed that if he wakes up cranky and crying, this is a pretty good indicator that I will have a challenging day/morning. But he tries to make me laugh with his monster voice, and then he runs to his easel, where we have made Thanksgiving turkey placemats for my family by tracing his hand. He wants to put his hand on a turkey right away.

I decide that we should go into the city to Trader Joe’s for the weekly shop, but I can’t find a moment to create a grocery list. It is that Midwestern steely gray out and, even though I went to bed at 9:30 PM, I am dragging and forgetful. It seems to take me hours to get our stuff together, and I don’t finish my makeup or even look at my hair. When we get in the car I notice that there is a stain on the chest of my t-shirt.

I write an unnecessarily terse text to DH about an issue and then feel bad about it. We go to Giant Eagle for SB coffee and, even though I promised myself that I would be better about monitoring S’s sugar intake, I get him a vanilla milk because that is all they have, and we’d run out of milk at home. I put it in a ba-ba because it was in the car, and I forgot his travel cup at home, and I just don’t want to deal with vanilla milk spouting out of the carton all over him. “I’m ready for a sippy cup, Mommy,” a total stranger says to us as I lug S past her table, pain shooting through my arm. Part of me wants to tell her that he has been drinking out of regular open-top cups for many months now, and another part of me just wants to flip her the bird.

Once on the highway, I somehow miss our exit and end up in a strange area that the GPS has a hard time deciphering, sending me around in circles. When I finally get things straight, I miss my exit again. I look at the clock and realize that there is no way I will be able to get the shopping done in time for us to get home for lunch and nap. I will have to give him a Happy Tots pouch that he will or maybe will not consume during the drive home from TJ’s—the car-ride pouch lunch another thing I told myself I would stop doing—and then perhaps nap slouched over in the car seat.

I should just go home, I think. It’s healthier for both of us. Then I think, No, go to the store, you’re already out. Just get it over with. I struggle like this until I realize I need to pull over and decide what to do.

The next exit I see is for the Strip District.

As I turn onto that pretty blue-and-yellow bridge, it occurs to me that I could scrap both ideas and take my baby to The Strip, and see what happens.

We park and get out and the wind is brisk. “Wow!” S says, all smiles on my hip. We talk about the cars, trucks, buildings, and clouds. My spirits are lifting. We stop in an adult-looking coffee shop because I have suddenly decided that it will be really good for me to spend just a few minutes in an adult-looking coffee shop. Get my urban cafe fix.

We go in the bathroom first, and when I go to wash my hands, I see that my hair, which I air-dry, is plastered to my skull as if it has been soaked in oil. I feel it and realize that I had been in such a rush early that morning in the shower that I’d forgotten to rinse the conditioner out of my hair. And this is the first time I have looked in the mirror since my hair has dried…

And I look a little bit crazy.

Not only is my t-shirt stained on the chest, it is very wrinkled. My favorite black corduroy jacket is far too small on me, and much shorter than the t-shirt. Why had I thought I could still pull of that jacket? My hair looks insanely greasy and my glasses are slipping down to the tip of my nose. I have no eyeliner on and my eyes are quite pouchy. I have no hair tie to pull my crazy-looking hair out of my face…

Just then, I hear a sound. Splashes and giggles.

S has his arm in the toilet bowl up to the elbow and is splashing it around. Beside him is a mound of toilet paper on the floor. He is in heaven.

Finally make it out of that bathroom for my hipster coffee. Sans high chair, of course. S wants to stand on the bench, do downward dog, use the ramp-like walkway extending from the front door into the cafe as a place to race. “Mark-go! Mark-go!” (Confession: I hope he never starts saying “set.”) We leave after about three minutes, leave the sea of computers and lunch meetings, my coffee half-drunk.

Once back out on the street, things turn good again. The sun comes out. The clouds are almost silver with autumn sunshine. So many cars and trucks to exclaim over, and the scent of Peace, Love & Donuts doughnuts wafting down the avenue. Things are so fun out on the street that I go back to the car for our Ergo carrier and really get into it. We explore each street, soaking up the sites and scents, waving to people and vehicles.

We see: One cement truck, spinning; several pick-ups; TWO fire trucks; one skidsteer; police vans; FedEx and UPS trucks; buses; and the topper—A TROLLEY!!!

We went to the Trolley Museum in Washington, PA yesterday with Dada, so this is particularly exciting. The trolley driver sees us pointing and dings his bell as he goes by.

The firemen get out of the firetruck and walk right by us on the sidewalk. “You are his heroes!” I tell them, and they are so tickled. S jiggles his legs and bellows: “BAH-BYEEEEEE!” waving.

Then he swivels his sweet little face toward the sky, sees a phalanx of birds way, way up there. “Aw!” he says in his high-pitched wonder voice. “Bye-bye, caw-caw, bye-bye!”

I am trying to figure out where we can comfortably have lunch when S darts his finger across the street at an Italian eatery. “I this! I this!” he says.

“You’re the boss,” I say, laughing, and we cross the street. I duck in and say, “There isn’t any chance you have gluten-free pizza…?” I ask at the counter. Miracle of miracles: they do.

I tell them that we want to eat at a table on the sidewalk, and though they look at me with funny eyes and barely veiled judgment, a man takes us outside into the chilly wind. I think of Prague, where I once lived, and the children eating outside, playing outside, for hours, in winter. I think of his preschool, where he gets two hours of outdoor time every day, rain, snow, or shine. I think of how I romped around in a huge, icy, leafy puddle with him yesterday afternoon. People think kids are fragile, but they are so tough, so invigorated by the outdoors.

I do keep checking in with him, because it was quite chilly, but he says, “Ou-side!” He is having a ball, pointing to the motorcycles, cars, vans, trucks going by, making vehicle noises, waving. I do the same. He is eating ice cubes, puckering his lips, giggling: “Oooo! Col!!!” He is doing the starman handshake with me (he is the one who always remembers) but instead of saying “yay” he says “puh-tuh!” Pizza!

Across the street, a t-shirt vendor is playing wonderful Frank Sinatra music. It is all so romantic. Fall leaves raining down from somewhere. My baby so, so happy.

“Mama!” he says every once in a while, looking at me, like, Hey, I’m with my mama, and I’m having so much fun.

The pizza is delicious. I remember how I was going to start trying to feed him less things like pizza this week. As we grin and chew, I am glad I “forgot.”

“Abeeyah, abeeyoh,” he sings, shaking his head back and forth. I hope he never stops saying “abeeyah-abeeyoh.”

When we’re finished and back at the car, when I put him in the car seat, he decides it will be high comedy if he slides all the way down, so that his head is in the bottom of the seat and his legs are up. Then he takes his rain-jacket hood and presses it over his face, puckering his lips. I kiss his lips through his hood, and he cackles.

“Mama, dada, baby, bay-beeee,” he is saying in the back seat as I pull into traffic. In the rearview mirror, I see him pointing to himself with both fingers as he says “baby.”

Two minutes down the road, he has fallen happily asleep.

Now he is in his crib and I am typing. His diaper is a balloon and he still has pizza sauce on his cheeks. I need to get into the shower and finish showering this time. But I wanted to capture all of this first, and am so glad I did. These are the days I will miss so much when he is older, and I am working, and he is at school and extracurriculars or with his friends. My baby and me, in the chilly autumn air, eating pizza to Frank Sinatra music, in love with each other and with life.

You never know where, exactly, the day will lead. Feeling grateful for surprises.


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  1. I love this with my whole heart. I know exactly what you mean about promising yourself not to take the easy way – not to give in and give a ba-ba, not to just let them have a pouch, not to let them eat this or that – I struggle with that every day too. But we need some of those shortcuts in order to do the really important things, like sit outside with our darling babies on brisk afternoon and watch the world go by. This reminded me so much of the poem my mother sends me when I’m down on myself for not cleaning the house, or making dinner or doing the laundry. I think you’ll like it.

    Babies Don’t Keep

    Mother, O Mother, come shake out your cloth,
    Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
    Hang out the washing, make up the bed,
    Sew on a button and butter the bread.

    Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
    She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

    Oh, I’ve grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue,
    Lullabye, rockabye, lullabye loo.
    Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
    Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo

    The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew
    And out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo
    But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo
    Look! Aren’t his eyes the most wonderful hue?
    Lullabye, rockaby lullabye loo.

    The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow
    But children grow up as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
    So quiet down cobwebs; Dust go to sleep!
    I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.
    Author: Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

  2. I love this so, so much.

  3. So many beautifully captured moments of the two of you. <3

    By the way, Bob was also in the Strip District at around the same time. Too bad his time there was short, otherwise, he and S could watch vehicles together. :)

  4. It feels like I could have written this (except I can’t because I lack your talent). I think squeeze pouch lunches and naps in the car seat and greasy hair and ill-fitting clothes are all perfectly acceptable, if not ideal <3 XOXO

  5. So lovely. ❤️

  1. Babies don’t keep | Hope is something you pee on…

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  • About Me

    Me: 41
    DH: 38

    Fertility issue:
    Recurrent Pregnancy Loss
    6 pregnancy losses
    All early
    5 with my own eggs
    1 with donor egg

    Abnormal embryos

    Factor V Leiden heterozygous
    MTHFR heterozygous

    AFC: 2 - 12
    AMH: 0.2
    FSH: 6.8
    E2: 40
    LH: 2.8


    April 2011 -
    Natural conception, first try. Blighted ovum (gestational sac only). D&C to remove products of conception at 9 weeks.

    Oct 2011 -
    Natural conception, first try. Blighted ovum (gestational sac & yolk sac). Took Cytotec to induce miscarriage at 9 weeks. PTSD, depression, anxiety, insomnia, night terrors followed.

    Winter 2012 -
    Two rounds of Femara/Clomid + IUIs at Columbia and RS of NY. The idea: to produce more eggs and increase chances of catching a good one. BFNs.

    April 2012 -
    Natural conception, first try. Ultrasound showed activity in the uterus, but no complete sac. Diagnosed with "missed abortion." Natural miscarriage at 5 weeks.

    June 2012 -
    Conception after 7 mg Femara for 5 days + IUI. Diagnosed with chemical pregnancy. Natural miscarriage at 4.5 weeks.

    August 2012 -
    Natural conception, without trying. Chemical pregnancy and natural miscarriage at 5 weeks.

    October 2012 -
    ODWU at Colorado Center for Reproductive Medicine (CCRM).

    January 2013 -
    IVF with Dr. Schoolcraft.
    Straight Antagonist protocol

    What he predicted:
    I will produce 11 eggs
    Good chance 1 will be normal
    30% chance 2 will be normal
    Transfer 1, then a 45% chance of success
    Transfer 2, then a 65% chance of success

    What happened:
    7 follicles stimulated
    6 mature eggs retrieved
    2 died during ICSI
    4 fertilized
    3 out of 4 embryos CCS-tested
    All abnormal

    Aug/Sept 2013-
    Frozen Donor Egg IVF at Reproductive Biology Associates (RBA)
    What Dr. Shapiro predicted:
    6 or 7 will fertilize
    1 we will transfer
    1 - 3 we will freeze

    Protocol: Lupron, Vivelle patches, Crinone

    8 frozen eggs from donor thawed
    6 fertilized
    1 Day-5 Grade A XBbb blastocyst transferred
    1 Day-5 Grade A EBbb blastocyst frozen
    1 Day-6 Grade A XBbb blastocyst frozen

    September 13, 2013: Pregnant

    Prenatal vitamins & baby aspirin,
    Vivelle patches & Crinone

    Beta #1: 171
    Beta #2: 706
    Beta #3: 7,437

    6 w 3 d: measured 6 w 1 d
    FHR: 80 bpm
    Fetus did not grow
    7 w: FHR 121 bpm
    8 w: heart stopped
    9 w: D and C

    Test results: We lost a normal karyotype male for unexplained reasons

    Quit stressful job
    Anti-inflammation diet
    Gluten-free diet
    Vit D, DHA/EPA
    Therapy/energy work
    Creative Visualization
    Art Therapy

    March 14, 2014:
    Double FET at RBA
    1 Day-5 Grade A EBbb blastocyst
    1 Day-6 Grade A XBbb blastocyst

    March 24, 2014:

    Prenatals, baby aspirin, Folgard, Vivelle, Crinone, Lovenox

    Beta #1: 295
    Beta #2: 942
    Beta #3: 12,153

    1 fetus implanted

    Measured on track

    Fetal heart rate:
    7 wk: 127 bpm, 8wk:159 bpm, 9wk: 172 bpm

    Due date: Dec, 4 2014!

    NatureMade (USP Seal) Prenatals and 4000 Vit D3
    Baby aspirin
    40 mg Lovenox
    DHA and EPA
    Folgard 2.2

    Born: One perfect baby boy 12.4.14

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